there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza

today was not the same as every other time
the trees seemed different, older
the sky pulled at my ankles and caused me to tilt with the world
almost as if i was leaning away from it
which makes me wonder: were they feeling the same way?
were they feeling as if they were leaning away from the world?

i have walked through the same rows of granite, marble, and slate
many times before
the countless types of stone used much in the same way as
bookmarks for books - to mark your place when you stop reading

"this is so stupid," and i almost regretted saying it
speaking my mind into the wind, "i cannot believe we are doing this."
her words swarmed back like bees,
"we are not doing this, they are."

today, there was no bookmark

it was stripped away from the cold, hard earth along with the five gold-plated letters

and the prayer -

long before we got there

standing before an open book, i was the one who felt exposed

it was not long ago that i sat cross-legged on that very place

i was afraid that her tears would knock me off my feet
they flowed from her eyes instantly, as if the man had controlled them with the same lever that he used to lift thirteen years out of the ground
six feet under and we were going backwards

there is no way of telling what you will find after thirteen years -
let alone, two
two years ago, the two of you were finally together
i was shown disruptance of the peace in an entirely new light today

my fingertips were numb with apprehension as i watched a burial in reverse

thirteen years is a long time -

and i'm still going to visit.